


A Matter of Trust

by sacredraisincakes



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Episode: s02e01 The Curse of Cornelius Sigan, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 11:52:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16174523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sacredraisincakes/pseuds/sacredraisincakes
Summary: Wherein Arthur knows he made a mistake, Merlin isn't willing to let him get away with it this time, and they both learn a few things about each other and themselves.





	A Matter of Trust

 

Arthur winced as Guinevere tightened the clean bandage around his abdomen.

“Well if you hadn’t been so eager to rush off into battle _wounded_ you wouldn’t be in this mess.”  Gwen gaped in horror at the words that had come out of her mouth.  “I mean- I’m so sorry, si-”

“It’s fine, Guinevere.”  He managed a strained smile down at her.  “I know it perhaps wasn’t the wisest thing, but I had to do it.”

She held up his shirt, torn and bloodied, then decided against redressing him in it, tossing the scraps aside with a frown.  “I know you did.  The king knows as well, no matter how much he protested.”

Arthur felt terrible about the fear he’d put his father through that night.  Uther, the paragon of royal duty, had practically begged him to stay inside where he would be safe.  But Arthur’s people had been in danger.  He’d _had_ to go back out to face the gargoyles Cedric had beset upon the city.  If someone had died because of his cowardice… he wouldn’t have been able to live with himself.

Gwen mistook the guilt on his face for another reason.  “Sire, _Arthur_ , you couldn’t have known.  We all trusted Cedric.”

 _Cedric_.  Arthur called himself a fool a dozen times over for not noticing something sooner.  The crazed sorcerer had been practically glued to his side, popping up every time he turned around for the past two days, and he’d simply beamed and preened at every flattering word out of the man’s mouth.  He’d allowed Cedric open access to his private chambers, a privilege only permitted to two other people in the entire castle.  His father and… and the only person who _hadn’t_ trusted Cedric’s lies.  “Merlin didn’t.  He knew.  He tried to tell me, and I wouldn’t listen.”

It shamed Arthur even more that Gwen didn’t even try to refute it.  He didn’t doubt Merlin had come to her at some point to rant about Arthur’s treatment of him.  Half the castle probably knew by now.  He could only hope she didn’t know about his current whereabouts.

Arthur groaned, disguising it as the discomfort of getting to his feet.  “You should get some rest.  There’s no one in immediate danger anymore that you can help.  There will be plenty of work to do in the morning.”

Gwen raised an eyebrow at him.  “You should follow your own advice, sire.”

He knew she was right, but there was something else he had to do first, no matter how much he dreaded it.  “Goodnight, Guinevere.”

“Goodnight, Arthur.”

Arthur fetched a shirt first, not even his guilt –immense as it was– enough to get him to venture below ground with a bare chest.  He winced at the pull of his skin as he carefully maneuvered the  fabric over his head and tugged it into place.  It wasn’t nearly so bad as the way his bruised ribs jounced with each step into the dungeons.  The guards were absent, likely out with the other hale knights, calming the populace.  It was all for the better, anyway. Less people to see his shame.

Rounding the corner, he froze.  The cell he’d placed Merlin in was a disaster zone, chunks of rock scattered everywhere, and the door in a heap against the far wall.  Merlin was nowhere to be seen.

Ignoring the pain in his side, Arthur ran for the physician’s chambers.  The worst of the injured (who were blessedly few no thanks to his stupidity), had been brought there, the rest remaining in the great hall to rest and recover under the watchful eyes of a few servants.  Gaius was stitching a head wound on a townswoman when Arthur stumbled through the door.

“Sire?”  Gaius barely glanced up at him, keeping his attention on the sharp needle ducking in and out of the woman’s scalp, but his brow creased in worry.  “What’s happened?”

“Where’s Merlin?  Is he okay?”  Images of a too still Merlin, bludgeoned with a falling rock or battered against a wall by a living gargoyle flashed through his mind, making him ill.  Merlin wasn’t exactly helpless, but neither were the knights he’d seen tossed through the air like ragdolls.  “Was he brought here or the hall?”  It was a silly question, Arthur knew.  Of course they would have brought him here.  Not only was he Gaius’s ward but his room was here.  What better place to bring him to recover?

Gaius’s brow furrowed further.  “Merlin isn’t here.”  Arthur knew he wasn’t mistaking the disapproval in his voice.  “I assume he’s still where you left him- _downstairs_.”

“But he isn’t.  The-” Arthur flicked a glance at the woman Gaius was stitching, who still trembled slightly from shock.  “There was damage to that part of the castle.  I thought if he was injured he would have been brought here.”

“Then it is likely he was not injured, sire.  I would guess he’s searching for you in turn, or perhaps assisting in the efforts with the other servants. It is not like him to sit idle while there is work to be done.”

There was reproval in that statement and Arthur took it, ducking his head quietly.  “When he comes back here, tell him he can have the rest of the night and tomorrow off to help you.  I’ll make do without him.”

“Yes, sire.”

Arthur trudged back to his room.  Perhaps it was better to take the night before confronting Merlin anyway.  Merlin was bound to gloat about his keener observational skills, and Arthur was too tired to put up with it gracefully, even if Merlin had just cause for gloating on this particular occasion.  Yes, it was better to give Merlin some time to cool off, and Arthur could take the time to wallow in self-pity.

But when he opened the door to his chambers, Merlin sat at the table, picking at a groove in the wood.  To Arthur’s relief he appeared unharmed.  “I was halfway to the gate when I knew I had to turn around.  I couldn’t just- not without talking to you first.”

For a moment Arthur couldn’t make heads nor tails of what Merlin was trying to say.  Then he spotted the rucksack at Merlin’s feet.

Oh.

“Your place is safe, Merlin.  I’m not ready to be rid of you yet.  You might have noticed there’s no one else lining up for the job.”

His “joke” fell flat, as he’d known immediately it would.  Merlin’s face was a mixture of exhaustion and anger, and he refused to look up from the table.  Arthur had a feeling he was going to have to do some grovelling before he was back to his usual self.  Arthur was terrible at grovelling.  A prince had to have more pride than that.  But Merlin, he knew, wasn’t upset with the prince.

“I’m sorry, okay?  I hadn’t had any sleep because of the banging in the vaults and I was frustrated with your increasing levels of incompetence and I just wanted someone to make my life easier for once.”  Not his best work, but he thought it was pretty damn good under the circumstances.

Merlin did not agree.  “I told you Cedric was up to no good.  For once I didn’t hint at it, didn’t give subtle clues about where to look, I just flat out told you something was wrong, and you ignored me.  You mocked me and threatened me and locked me up because it was just so _inconceivable_ that I might be telling the truth.”

“Merlin, that isn’t-”

“You don’t trust me at all, do you?”  Merlin finally looked up at him, eyes pained and glassy.

“What?  Merlin, of course I do!”  Arthur couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “Do you think my father lets his servant get away with half the things you do?  He probably would have had Malcolm beheaded for calling him a _clotpole_.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about!”  Merlin surged to his feet in frustration.  Arthur automatically followed.  “I don’t care if you get angry when I call you names or neglect my chores.  I’d just appreciate it if for once I could say that the sky is blue and you didn’t rush to the window to check!”

Arthur didn’t know what to say, and so he just stood there for a long moment, glancing away to pretend he didn’t see Merlin dash at his eyes with a hand.  _Of course_ he trusted Merlin.  He trusted Merlin more than he did anyone, not his knights or Morgana or even his father.  He couldn’t believe that Merlin couldn’t see that, didn’t _know_ he was the most important person in Arthur’s world.

“Merlin-”

Merlin snatched his bag off the floor.  “Gaius was saying that one of the villages nearby needs a healer, someone with more knowledge than just a simple midwife.  I’m sure he’ll be willing to help me if I run into trouble.

Arthur’s heart clenched, body going numb for a few terrible seconds while he helplessly watched Merlin move towards the door, then suddenly he sprang into action, grabbing Merlin by the arm and hauling him back into a kiss.

He fully expected Merlin to be completely unresponsive under his unprompted assault, but to his shock he found himself backed against a wall almost instantly, Merlin’s hands threading through his hair and locking him close, mouth open and inviting.  Arthur let out an involuntary moan when Merlin’s thigh found its way between Arthur’s legs, pressing firmly against the burgeoning hardness.

Convinced –mostly– that Merlin wasn’t about to make a break for the door, Arthur pulled his head back as much as the wall would allow.  “I trust you, Merlin.  I just don’t trust me trusting you.”

“That doesn’t even make sense,” he sighed.  Merlin’s thigh withdrew its pressure, and Arthur bit back a pathetic whine at the loss.

Arthur ducked his head, closing his eyes to block out what he’d forgotten for a moment he shouldn’t have.  “I think today proves I’m not the best judge of character.  Who’s to say I’m not wrong about you, too?”

Merlin lifted his head with a hand on his cheek, careful not to touch Arthur’s fresh wound.  “Sometimes with trust you get burned.  There are no guarantees.  You just have to decide if it’s worth the risk.”

“You are,” Arthur answered immediately, drawing Merlin closer again.  “ _You are_.”

As they fell into Arthur’s bed, he spent the night pouring his trust into Merlin’s skin, trying to imprint it like a brand upon his heart.  Later he held his sleeping lover close, whispering each one of his secrets into his ear.

“And maybe when you wake I’ll trust you enough to tell you that I know what you aren’t telling me.  And maybe you’ll trust me enough show me the beautiful things you can do.”

 


End file.
